


Everywhere, Nowhere

by Weddersins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Established Reylo, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Ghost Luke Skywalker, Gen, Happy Family, Light Angst, Pregnancy, Reylo - Freeform, Twitter Prompt, its me, of course its angsty, reylo kiddo, soft moments, training with Luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 19:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weddersins/pseuds/Weddersins
Summary: Inspired by a tweet by the Episode IX Theories Bot on twitter -"luke's force ghost befriends rey and ben's son."





	Everywhere, Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> >
> 
> many, many thanks to my friend and beta reader [ theselittlethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theselittlethings/works), who puts up with an awful lot of nonsense from me and I'm terribly grateful for it.
> 
> If you want some atmospheric music for this oneshot, I highly recommend this - [Goldbourne Road](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szL9VsyHWWs), which was on a loop while I wrote this.

>

image credit to the talented and wonderful [bex_xo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bex_xo/pseuds/bex_xo)

“No, no - more like this.”

Luke adjusts his own grip on the handle of the lightsaber, just a smidge, and watches as the boy does the same. He is six, with hair as dark as the night sky and eyes that are full of life. He wants so badly to get it right. 

The boy regards him through thick lashes, gaze both wary and hopeful. Luke smiles in what he hopes is an encouraging manner. He still feels a little out of practice. 

The boy’s feet shuffle anxiously, and Luke curses the fact that he can only lead by example. The strange blue cast his consciousness was shrouded in was a blessing and a curse - he was _ here _, he could see and think and speak - but the tethers that bound him here also kept him from simply moving the boy’s hands to their correct positions.

The boy nods before tugging the blindfold back over his eyes and widening his stance. Stubby fingers clasp and unclasp the skinny training staff, and he readies himself. He swivels sightlessly toward Luke, body stick-straight. 

“Like this?” he asks hopefully. 

Luke chuckles. “Just like that. Now think of the ground - how it feels against the soles of your feet; how the setting sun looks from across the meadow. The breeze in your hair, the - the noises of the creatures in the trees… birth, death; the decay that brings new life…” Luke stumbles over his words, and the boy stays rigid, focused on himself and his stance and shutting out all else but the desire for perfection. 

A breeze stirs the tall grass, and Luke imagines he can hear the voices of his masters carried along with it. The old Jedi sighs, running a hand over his grey beard as the right words bubble up within him. 

“Let it flow _ through _ you.” 

If the boy hears the echoes of the past he doesn’t betray it. Instead his shoulders loosen and his knees flex, and the tightness he’d been holding in himself evaporates. 

Luke grins. That’s what he had been waiting for - the boy reaching out past himself. 

“_Now _ swing.”

The boy obeys, and the target tied to the tree branch bobs with a direct hit. 

“Well done.” Luke wants to be effusive in his praise, but the words don’t come naturally to him. If the grin splitting the boy’s face was any metric to go by, he’d done alright all the same. 

Two dirty hands drop the stick to the ground, shoving the blindfold back into his mop of curls in short order. For a moment, the boy watches the target swing with the residual motion of his strike, his grin turning from surprised to proud. He looks to Luke - for approval, for instruction - but his gaze goes right through him. Another smile appears, bright as sunshine, and he raises a finger to point at the target. 

“Mom - hey, Mom, did you see that?”

Luke turns to follow his gaze. Rey stands in the doorway of the small house situated behind them, hands resting on the swell of her rounded stomach. He can sense the life waiting there, twisting and turning and jubilant. She smiles at them both. 

“I saw; what a wonderful job you did! You’re learning so much -” she is attacked mid-sentence by a full-bodied hug from the boy, and she shrieks a laugh as she stumbles backward. She catches him, but only just. “And so heavy, Maker! Oh, and _ filthy _ , too - you’ve left your paw prints on my shirt, you silly little thing. Go and wash up - go on!” Rey sets the boy on the ground, noticing his dirty feet for the first time. She catches him up again playfully. “Oh, and I see you’re trying to track all of outside _ in _ now. Better make it a shower then. Into the ‘fresher with you!” 

The boy laughs, running back to grab the worn practice stick from the soft grass before flashing an innocent smile in Luke’s direction. “Can we try again tomorrow?”

“Perhaps.” Luke refuses to make a promise he would only break. There had already been enough of that to go around. Even so, he gives the boy a hesitant smile and resists the urge to ruffle his dark hair. Instead, he raises a hand goodbye. One small grubby hand waves back. 

The boy takes off into the house without a backwards glance, wiggling past his mother with a giggle. Luke can hear a voice from inside - deeper, darker - echoing Rey’s exclamations about getting clean. 

He can feel the winds beginning to stir again, calling him back. Sustaining this form was always taxing - and he’d been here for longer than intended. He watches intently as his view of the house grows dim, the colors of the world around him swimming together and bleeding at the edges. 

Rey leans against the doorframe, staring at Luke with a small smile. She’s joined by a great hulking shadow of a man, with dark hair and strong arms and a proud face that Luke once thought he’d never see again. He has his arms around his wife, one giant hand splayed over her belly. She tugs his face down, kisses him while on her tiptoes. The last thing Luke can clearly see is the scarred face of his nephew, smiling. At peace. 

He senses them now, more than he sees them - the love found there, and the hope. Four rivers of Force churning in the dark of the universe. Luke stretches, and finds himself once again among the trees, the grass, the ground.

Here, there, and everywhere. 

Somewhere across the galaxy, a bird warbles in the brush. Its song carries a question the dark-haired boy once asked, 

_ Uncle Luke, where do you go when you aren’t here? _

_ Everywhere_, he’d said, _ nowhere _.

_ So you’re never really gone? _

_ No one’s ever really gone, Noah. _

**Author's Note:**

> Noah: from the Hebrew name נֹחַ (Noach) meaning “rest, repose; comfort”
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Come say hi to me on [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/weddersins).


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